


Tear this Veil Down

by borlaaq



Series: This Slow Devour [5]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Eaten and Candles are different, Eaten is an alter Candles made to cope, Multi, Nemesis Conclusion spoilers, plural!Candles up in here, slightly plural!cups in that regard too but not in the same way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borlaaq/pseuds/borlaaq
Summary: "I suppose there's no deeper love than giving yourself up for someone,” you agree, looking down at the shard in its claws. The reflection looks back at you. Cups’ scars are on the wrong side, its eyes mirrored glass.
Relationships: Mr Cups/Mr Mirrors, Mr Eaten/Mr Veils (Fallen London), Mr Veils/Mr Candles, Seeker of Mr Eaten's Name/Mr Veils (Fallen London)
Series: This Slow Devour [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697740
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Tear this Veil Down

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot stress enough that this has MAJOR spoilers for the Nemesis Conclusion.

> _And I can show you stars, i f this is who you are._
> 
> _You're far more priceless than the price that's spent._
> 
> _A choice like this gets harder just to fight through._
> 
> _\- (I Was Told To) Never Let You Go by Parabelle_

_Feast of the Rose, 1896_

“Tell me what you know of love.” Lilac had asked and you had laughed at first.

“It’s not something I want anything to do with,” you had scoffed.

“Pity,” a smile had curled at the edges of her lips. Playful, knowing. “Love wants you.”

You had rolled your eyes and waved your hand dismissively.

Now, though, you understand. 

—

_Feast of the Rose, 1898_

Lilac sets up her Parlour at the edge of the Forgotten Quarter every year during the Feast. You’ve gotten three tattoos from her, more than she allows most. You aren’t in the Forgotten Quarter to see her, instead you are enjoying a drink with your back pressed against the Well.

You know she’s there, though. The familiar smell of lilacs. The Well knows she’s there too. A small song bubbling up from it. 

“A new sigil appeared on the Bazaar last night,” you call out. `

Lilac steps into your view, rounding the other side of the Well. She settles down next to you. You pass your bottle of wine and she drinks. It's not Absinthe for once. You know she wouldn’t have drank it had it been.

“Do you know what it says?” She asks. 

You close your eyes and darkness like water laps at your mind. A memory at the edge, just barely there. You focus and it flickers like a candle flame. You reach, reach. It tugs you into its embrace. 

_“You love me!” You sing-song. “The Bazaar should use our love story. It’s worth as much as seven cities.”_

_“Two curators will hardly be enough,” Veils growls, rolling its eyes at you. You don’t recognize your voice and you don’t recognize the style of clothing it is working on. There’s wax on your fingers — your claws. And yes, they are yours._

_“I think it's enough,” you pout. You can feel your wings droop. And it feels so right to have them._

_“Offer it to the Bazaar, if you must,” it sighs, annoyed, “But I’d rather keep this to ourselves. Hoard it.” Its words are hot and burning. Its words are perfect._

You come back to yourself like a dam breaking. You gasp for breath, coughing. Lilac’s hand is warm on your back, keeping you anchored to your body. You don’t have wings. Of course you don’t have wings.

“To hoard something,” you gasp out. “The Correspondence Sigil, it means to hoard something.”

Lilac is used to your outbursts by now and she reaches down to squeeze your hand. You intertwine your fingers with hers, eyes burning with tears. Once you manage to calm down, Lilac says, “Usually I only tattoo the Bazaar at Cups’ demands. But I made an exception when Veils asked.” She pauses and smiles. “The Bazaar thinks it's perfect.”

—

You break into the Bazaar after that. It's not really breaking in when the Neddy Men and Special Constables know you. Even Wines pretends not to see you as make so much noise scrambling up the side of one of the Spires that the bats fly away in a swarm of upset chittering.

Apples sighs and opens its window, pulling you inside. “Going to see Veils?”

“Yes. Thank you!” You smile, brushing yourself off and heading to the door. This has become a fairly common occurrence. Apples shakes its head but catches your wrist as you go to leave. 

“Wait,” it says softly and you turn to raise a brow. “It’s true then? That you have his memories?”

“Is that what this was? A test?”

Apples swallows, its claws delicate as it traces up your inner wrist. “Somewhat. You will need to ask Veils for details. We don’t talk as much as we used to. But—” Its voice catches and it won’t meet your gaze. “Just, ah, I want him to know I… miss him. Terribly.”

You pause and Apples releases you to shuffle past to open the door. When you finally walk past, words in the Correspondence slip from your throat. “ _I miss you too_.”

—

Veils stands up, nearly knocking over its chair, when you enter its room. It stares at you, frozen in place. You are unable to read its body language, its face, its stance. Its claws are balled into fists and it doesn’t speak. Usually it would be threatening to throw you from the Spire at this point.

“I saw the sigil.” You say, crossing the room to it. You reach up, push the veil from its face. It doesn’t stop you, but its wings tremble beneath its heavy robes.

“And?” It says at length. Its voice is low. It sounds scared. 

You say, “I know what it means. I saw the memory.”

It stops breathing then. Its next words are a breathy plea. “Let me talk to him. Please.”

“I don’t know how,” you reply and you hadn’t expected your voice to sound so torn, so pathetic, like you are about to cry.

_To wake the dreamer, speak its name._

You fist your hands into the front of its robes and it brings a claw to your throat. It traces the outline of the tattoo around your neck, the tattoo of _it_. Claws wrap around your neck, thumb fitting into the hollow of your throat. It squeezes and the gentleness of it catches you off guard. You don't struggle or panic; Veils has killed you before. 

_"Stay with me," you beg as Veils removes your robes. You are trembling._

_"They will only take a little," it reminds you, a hand wrapping around your neck. "Just sleep now, Candles."_

But just as your vision begins to blur, it whispers a name in the Correspondence. A name that burns. It feels right and wrong and it’s not you, not anymore, never again. You feel blood in your ears, so human and weak to the language. And something in the back of your mind _writhes_.

You don't have control anymore. You feel far away. Your body isn't yours (you want it to be, though. You want a body of your own again). 

"Vake-the-betrayer," you-but-not reply in the Correspondence. A name for a name. It looks up, scanning your face for any sign that this is a trick. Its claws release your throat, moving to cup your chin.

"Eaten," it corrects finally. You feel yourself smirk. 

"All that's left," you say. “Did you want something more?”

Veils laughs, hysterical and broken. The sound hurts you as much as it amuses you. “Yes,” it whispers, defeated. “But what a fool I was to think I could talk to him. Instead I am left with a wraith.” The anger in its voice makes your smirk grow wider. You reach up, grab its horns, and tug its head down to your level. 

“Indeed. Such a lovesick fool.” You pause, fighting yourself. You can feel Eaten digging its claws into your mind, digging through your thoughts. You almost feel it reel back when it touches upon something, when it realizes then that you love Veils. You remind Eaten of Candles and it hates it. But when it looks at Veils through your eyes, with the taint of your love, it can’t help but feel like Candles again.

Words leave your mouth, not yours but so very close, “Would you treat me like him if I let you? Or am I too twisted even for you?”

“Would you even have me? You would see me drowned and flayed,” it counters. Veils is resisting giving a full answer. Its never been one for words but if you must do this, you are intent to make it suffer through the embarrassment of saying how it feels. 

“I could blame this vessel. He loves you and somewhere in my dead heart, maybe I do too. I would rather see you try and make me fall in love with you all over. If you can swallow your pride long enough to try.”

Veils looks like it may snarl, lips curling up over its fangs, but when it leans forward, it presses its forehead to yours. It closes its eyes, nose flaring. “I never stopped dreaming of you. Every one made me feel ill. And yet here you are. Telling me to make you fall in love.”

You blink, conflicted enough to hesitate. “Even if you have to carve it into my body, just make me remember what love feels like. Anything but this hate and anger that’s rotting me.”

“I’ve done enough damage to your body,” it corrects, eyes opening. “Instead allow me to prove myself with words, Was-Master, Drowned Runt—” it growls, fisting claws into your hair and tilting your head back. It kisses you hard enough that you see stars. There’s so much pain and guilt in it, you forget how to breathe. Then all at once it’s over and Veils whispers, “ _I love you_.”

“Shut up,” you snarl. You break then, body shaking. “You can’t love me. You _killed_ me.” Its Candles surfacing through the black water of Eaten. Your throat hurts from the Correspondence you are being forced to speak in. You taste blood. 

“I did.” Veils lowers its gaze, voice quivering. “I was young, foolish, and… didn’t—” It pauses, squeezing you. It meets your eyes. “Damn it all, Candles. I didn’t respect you. You’re a runt. I didn’t feel like I should care. I forced myself not to care. And I lied to myself. I regret it, even now, after a thousand years.”

You laugh bitterly, tossing your head back and staring at the ceiling. “So blunt. Too little, too late.” Still, though, you run your fingers through its fur. “Say it again.” You whisper, leaning up to brush your lips against its chin.

It smirks then, expression soft. “So eager, so needy, so urgent! Frantic and desperate to finally know the depths of my love!”

“Is it as deep as the well you drown me in? As deep as your guilt?”

“Deeper!” It sing-songs. “Deep as the blackest hole, hot as the densest star. Something every Curator would want in its collection. Something to _hoard_.”

And there it is, the sigil burning between you, bright and warm. Your body shudders, human and weak but the part of you in control doesn’t let it fall apart. You let out another shaky laugh. “Please fix me,” you ask honestly and it’s something all of you wants. “Put me back together. I’m so angry and scared.” 

Veils places a hand back around your throat, this time feeling for a pulse. The false-stars in its fur sync up with your heartbeat. It lets out a small noise, pained and surprised. “It won’t be fixing. It will be remaking.” It warns, voice dangerous.

"As long as I have a use beyond a bargaining chip for a city. As long as I'm not going to be given up again," your eyes scan Veils' face desperately. Being broken down and remade is fine as long as it's a reassurance that you won't suffer ever again. You want to be useful. Needed. Remembered.

 _Loved_.

"You'll be cherished." Veils purrs. “Like I should have done before.”

“I'm tired, Veils," the one using your voice says. You feel it too, an exhaustion deeper than your body, all the way into your soul. Rather, perhaps, the other soul that has settled into your chest. 

"I'll take care of you and your vessel," it says. 

"Emil," you say and it's you again. Your limbs are heavy and you cough up blood. 

"Emil." Veils replies, and there's something fond in its voice. You've been annoying the Master for nearly two years now and it's the first time its called you by name. It almost makes you laugh, because it doesn’t even feel like your name anymore.

—

You’re staring up at the Bazaar, memorizing the new words, when you hear someone approach. You glance back to see Mr Cups. It's walking with a slight limp, hood drawn down low. “Walk with me,” it chitters.

You don't question it. You not questioning things is what got you where you are. You simply nod and follow. The two of you walk in silence near the Stolen River for a while before Cups breaks it. 

"I worked with him to buy the First City, you know. We all had so much faith in the Bazaar back then." 

"Why are you telling me this?" You ask bluntly. 

Cups stops walking and turns to face you. It seems to analyze you before speaking. "How did he come to inhibit you? Is he in every Seeker?" 

Ah. You fidget a bit. “In a way, I guess. Although, it is more Eaten, than… Candles, you know?” A pause, you look towards the House of Chimes. “Except for me. It's usually Candles that I hear. He… feels comfortable in my body.”

Cups hums, its claws finding something to fumble with under its robes. “When he died, he was Eaten. He is the rage burning in every Seeker. Eaten is the part of him that protects him. Using you, he is able to find himself again.” It pulls out a shard of glass, staring at its own reflection. 

In all things, they say…

“Do you... love him? Does he love you?”

You look past it, brows furrowed in concentration. You remember Mirrors then. How it would bring Cups things it thought it would like: broken and empty frames, glass scratched beyond repair, things that can’t be restored. Cups, in exchange, brought Mirrors things that _could_ be fixed. 

“What happened to Mirrors?” You ask because you have only heard the whispers. “Is it true it's trapped in Parabola?”

"To an extent," It explains. "The damned Council killed it. In the kind of way you can't come back from," Cups curses under its breath then, looking like it may fly into a fit of rage before calming itself down. "— So I sacrificed my mirrorself, and let it take its place in the curve of silver. We... trade, sometimes. Which one is presenting. I’m sure you know what that is like."

That sounds familiar and you close your eyes. "I suppose there's no deeper love than giving yourself up for someone,” you agree, looking down at the shard in its claws. The reflection looks back at you. Cups’ scars are on the wrong side, its eyes mirrored glass. "You're probably the only one who... understands that."

“I didn't realize it before. I just— Did it,” it admits quietly. "I didn't think. I just couldn't bear to stand by and let it suffer. It... was as natural as breathing. I had to surrender myself for it."

"That's how you know it's right. You did something beautiful, I think."

"I think so too. I've—” it glances to the mirror again and the reflection smiles when Cups does not. "— Fallen in love. It's an honor to share space with it.”

You let out a shaky breath. That’s exactly what you needed to hear. “Thank you. Cups. Mirrors. Both of you.”

Cups smiles this time, slipping the shard back into its robes. “Bring him back home.”

—

When you smell lilacs, you don’t turn around. “Will it be enough?” You ask. 

“You aren’t seeking Mr Eaten’s name. You’re seeking Mr Candles’ name. If anyone can bring him back, it’s you.” Says Lilac. 

Yes, you think, that sounds right.


End file.
